


any animal, plant, or man who dies adds to nature's compost heap

by master_obi_wan_kenboneme



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Anakin Skywalker Needs a Hug, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone Needs A Hug, M/M, Obi-Wan Kenobi Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:47:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29729934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/master_obi_wan_kenboneme/pseuds/master_obi_wan_kenboneme
Summary: "The Death machine cranks up and they want my oil again. Even blood on the doorstep won't keep them out." REQUIEM by Jerome McDonoughObi-Wan Kenobi has a soulmate. The galaxy doesn't give a fuck.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala/Obi-Wan Kenobi/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30
Collections: Star Wars Soulmate Month 2021





	any animal, plant, or man who dies adds to nature's compost heap

**Author's Note:**

> this is GRUESOME. anyone who can name the play i took so much inspiration from will get all of my love. please take heed that this deals with war and the most bloody bits of it. there is starvation, anger, depression, slightly suicidal thoughts, and child neglect/abuse.

It was rare for people to have soulmates. Particularly, it was rare for a Jedi to have a soulmate. Luckily enough, there had never been a Jedi who’s soulmate wasn’t another Jedi; it made things easier. Obi-Wan knew that he would have a soulmate ever since he could remember. All of the other crechlings hugged one another, slept in piles, sat on the masters’ laps when they visited. Sadly, most babies born with soulmates didn’t make it past their first few weeks, as they couldn’t come into contact with anyone, even their birthing parent. If they attempted to, they were thrown back. The aspiring Jedi was left at the temple when he was but a month old; his conservative and traditional family wanting nothing to do with what they thought was sorcery.

As Obi-Wan was unable to touch anyone, even simple daily tasks became dangerous. Running around, saber training, even eating. He had to learn to mend all of his own wounds and heal all of his own hurts, physical or not. The young boy watched as younglings were chosen by masters month after month. Obi-Wan knew he was getting older, almost too old. He was one of the last of his crechemates remaining in the dorms that master-less younglings lived in. His belongings were scant, mostly practical things he had come to acquire over the years as he came to terms with his independence. Robes, bandages and bacta given to him by a sympathetic padawan healer, his books for lessons.

Obi-Wan had developed a great hatred for the days when knights and masters came to visit hopeful, wide-eyed children. Nearly every time, in an effort to make the younglings feel mature, potential masters would greet potential padawans with a handshake or some customary physical gesture. Obi-Wan learned quickly that his place was not with them, not with the other younglings who were talented or normal. A boy of only thirteen shouldn’t have to mend these types of wounds, one might say. The universe quite disagrees with you.

“Growing old, you are,” said Yoda as the two were strolling through the gardens. Obi-Wan felt bad. He couldn’t do the bare minimum of assisting the old master on his walks.

“Yes, master.”

“Sad, I would be, to see you go.”

“I’m afraid it’s quite inevitable,” he chucked dryly.

“Thought, I had, by now that you might find a suitable master.”

“They are all quite suitable masters, but perhaps I am not a suitable apprentice, master.”

The green creature hummed. “Matter, it does not. Strange are the ways of the force.”

Obi-Wan bowed as they approached the youngling dorms.

“Nice, it was to speak with you.”

“And you, Master Yoda.”

The auburn-haired boy set forth to finish gathering his belongings into the carrier the Order had provided him. He was sad but unsurprised to see his things didn’t manage to fill the bag even halfway. Today was one of his last chances ever to find a master, lest he be sent to the agricorps or worse, the mining corps. Obi-Wan had a feeling that Master Yoda had requested his presence today to distract him from the other activities of the day. It was yet another visitation day where more and more of his companions would begin their lives anew with a master.

A knock on the door frame startled him, and he turned and hastily bowed without catching a glimpse of who was at the door.

“Please, the pleasantries are growing to be quite tiring.”

The boy’s eyebrows raised when he recognized the familiar voice of Master Plo Koon through his modulator. Master Plo had never been anything but polite to him, even with his condition.

“Forgive me, Master Koon. I was not expecting any visitors.”

“I thought not, young one. I know you suffer with the blessing of a soulmate, yes?” There was nothing mocking or sarcastic in the Kel Dor’s voice.

“Yes, Master.”

“You and I share something,” Master Koon said as he sat on Obi-Wan’s small bed. “Other Kel Dor are rare. I have yet to be able to share my own quarters with a padawan. However, I am confident that, if you accept my offer of apprenticeship, that even though we will not be able to reside in the same space that you will grow to become a fine knight.”

Obi-Wan’s eyes began to sting as he bowed again.

“Of course I accept, Master Koon. I am honored to be chosen.”

“Now, young one, gather your things. A room has been prepared for you.”

His own room? His own room was a luxury he was not given in the creche or his dorms. Perhaps in his own room he would better cope with his loneliness.

A smile creeped on the boy’s face as he packed the rest of his things. Master Yoda had known, he realized. That scheming green creature always had something up his sleeve. Robes. Whatever he wore. Obi-Wan cinched up the bag and hefted it into his shoulder, startling when Master Koon’s voice broke through to him.

“Let me carry that, young one. Our first stop will not be your new rooms, but at the quartermaster. A padawan does not have youngling robes, or long hair, does he?” The Kel Dor teased.

Obi-Wan’s eyes burned as he let out a tearful chuckle.

“No, I suppose he does not.”

Their visit to the quartermaster went similarly to how the rest of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s padawan years went. It went by quickly, with tears shed, and only a few stumbles along the road.

This was one such stumble.

“Senator! Senator you must slow down, it’s too dangerous to run like this!”

Over time, Obi-Wan had come to terms with the fact that there was another half of his soul out there, that the universe had created him and his soulmate as complete compliments of one another. Meditation with Master Koon helped immensely, but also material things like weighted blankets and heated pillows. Sometimes, on the other hand, he hated that he couldn’t touch anyone, especially tiny, slippery senators who behaved like children. He stopped and sighed, letting the creature run into a wall. Surely there had to be other members of their society who were more worthy of the position. As of now though, Master Koon had left his padawan with the senator for the day. When he was finally able to put down the rambunctious creature for their nap (their nap!) he commed the Kel Dor.

“Master, really! There must be something else for me to do,” said Obi-Wan disdainfully.

“I’m afraid not, young one. Master Jinn has brought a child back to the temple, the council is dealing with the poor thing now. It is a tenuous situation.”

His master ended the call quickly, and Obi-Wan cringed. He felt sorry for any padawan of Qui-Gon Jinn. The man, after discovering Obi-Wan’s biological aversion to touch, did little more than ignore the child. He was wary of any particularly unstable Jedi, a group which Obi-Wan could be safely placed into. In his youth, the padawan was more than unstable. In fact, most of the wounds he had learned to heal were self-inflicted. Not because he was particularly depressed (he didn’t discover actual self harm until he was older) but because the fights he tried to get into left him bruised and bleeding after being thrown against walls, pillars, floors, chairs, and even lightsabers. Qui-Gon didn’t like the idea of an apprentice being able to betray him, citing his most recent apprentice’s doings as blame.

He wondered about the boy. Where had he found a boy that the Jedi had passed over, especially on Naboo? And Master Koon seemed to be more concerned than he should be over a youngling, unless Qui-Gon had brought a strange child. One too old, or not blessed with the force. Bubbling laughter pulled him from his thoughts, Queen Padme and a handmaiden giggling at something between themselves, behind their well-groomed hands.

“Good afternoon, your majesty. How are you both this afternoon?” Asked Obi-Wan politely as he bowed.

“We are quite well, Padawan Kenobi. Are you finding your hands are full with Senator Pey?”

“I do not believe I’m at liberty to discuss that with you. Perhaps, though, there’s something else I could do to assist you,” he replied, a twinkle in his eye while playfully looking her up and down..

“You are insufferable! Just horrible!” She exclaimed. The two of them had been playing this game ever since they met, both teenagers unable to touch other people. Flirting was a fun way out of the boredom, and over the years they had made a sort of game of it.

The pair had met when Obi-Wan was just 15, the girl set to take the throne. Threats on her family's life drew her away from Naboo and into the protection of the Jedi. Padme had cried frequently, in fear of her future and her family. She was utterly broken over the fact that she may never see them again, and Obi-Wan made an effort to get the crown princess to laugh. Sometimes it worked, but other times she just cried over the soulmate she hadn’t yet met, that they couldn’t hold her as she cried. Often she stayed in Obi-Wan’s rooms on his small bed, he was too chivalrous for anything else. As the two lay in the dark, they would whisper to each other about soulmates and politics and other such matters.

Now, Obi-Wan was 19 and Padme 17. There were others he played these games with as well, Quinlan Vos most often. The two were of similar age and while Quinlan had no soulmate, he was just as content to entertain Obi-Wan with cunning, dirty remarks.

Obi-Wan often thought about how much easier life would be if he had already met his soulmate. No other thought plagued him as often as these did. He would learn the touch of another, he would hold them and learn just how much intensity was appropriate when linking hands, learn how another body needs to be comforted, how they like their scalp massaged, their back scratched. He longed more than anything to simply feel the heat coming off of someone else, to gently press his lips to someone’s brow, wiping their tears as they wept. Nothing else was so pertinent to Obi-Wan as this, not even becoming a Jedi. If he had to abandon the Jedi just to experience someone else’s hands in his, gods be damned he would. He would do anything for one touch, one brush against someone else. He was again jolted out of his stupor, but this time by his commlink.

“Master?”

“Obi-Wan, you may return to the temple. Your presence is needed.”

He nodded and excused himself from the presence of the ladies with a wink for each of them, and headed back to the temple.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Too bad he isn’t your soulmate, he looks so warm!”

“Oh come on Sabe, you know he’s not. He’s totally into men.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s impossible. One can dream.”

“Indeed we can,” said Padme, a small smile gracing her lips. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t thought about it. Despite his rocky beginnings in the order, Obi-Wan was growing into a fine man. He was caring and attentive, putting all of his focus on the task he was assigned. One day, he would take amazing care of someone. Padme knew he would.

It was strange though, one had to admit. Two young people, both close in age and both working near each other who weren’t soulmates? The galaxy is often cruel, but not so cruel as this. Something strange was going on, both Padme and Obi-Wan agreed. They had made promises to each other to not become jealous of the other if one happens to find their soulmate before the other.

Though he was a Jedi, she knew his thoughts often drifted to his future, where he hoped desperately to find his soulmate and live in peace with them. It was a common enough dream among those who haven’t yet found their soulmate, she supposed. Padme’s own thoughts were frequently controlled by her soulmate as well, how they would smell, how they would need to be held. Whether they were short or tall, whether they liked to be the big or little spoon. On her walk back to her lavish Naboo quarters, the senator slowed, glancing out of the large window in her lounge. She knew there was someone for her out there, but the waiting was agony. What if they never met? Never hugged or placed their arms around each other, never pressed chapped and shy lips together?

Padme shook her head. She knew that she would do that all one day. She just wished it came sooner.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Anakin was karking confused. Like, it was wizard that the Jedi found him, but why were they such prudes? ‘Don’t do this, don’t care about him, you can’t be trained!’

Well.

Qui-Gon would train him. He would be a great master. The door to the large council chamber opened quietly, an older auburn teenager walking in. He made his way quickly to the masked Kel Dor in a chair, bowing and speaking to him quietly. Anakin watched, curious. Did all padawans look like this? His fifteen-year-old-mind was going at about one thousand miles per hour; who was this kid? Why is his hair so awful? Did he also have a soulmate? Could he be Anakin’s soulmate?

His thoughts distracted him enough so that Qui-Gon had to say his name several times to get his attention.

“The council has granted you permission to be trained. However, you will not learn under my tutelage.” The giant of a man gestured to the bald man Anakin had spoken to earlier.

“Master Mace Windu will be overseeing your training, though I will try to make myself present in your apprenticeship as often as possible.”

Anakin nodded shallowly, following Master Jinn to Master Windu’s side.

“Come, padawan. Let’s get you situated.”

The three left the senate chambers, a pair of green eyes burning holes into Qui-Gon Jinn’s robes.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Obi-Wan was settling for evening meditation with Master Koon that night when he finally voiced the question that had been on the tip of his tongue for hours.

“What is Master Windu’s new padawan like?”

Master Koon took a moment, likely to gather his thoughts.

“He is quite rambunctious. The child’s midichlorian count is impressive, unlike any the order has seen. Master Jinn believes him to be the chosen one, that is why the council elected not to allow Jinn to train the boy.”

Obi-Wan hesitated. “I noticed he didn’t touch anyone, does he also…” he trailed off, eyes focusing on a dying plant in the corner of the room.

“He is indeed blessed with a soulmate.”

He had expected as much. The boy’s eyes gathered with tears, a few gathering on his lashes before he was able to blink them away.

The meditation would help. He settled into his posture, breathing evenly and clearing his head. Obi-Wan felt his master doing the same next to him, and tried his best to release all emotions into the force.

The meditation didn’t help.

Later that night found Obi-Wan screaming into his pillow like a child. He threw himself into katas and exercised as if the strain would make up for lost time. Qui-Gon wanted to train Anakin, who couldn’t touch anyone. What was so wrong with Obi-Wan that he was rejected by every master but the one who took pity on him?

“Padawan.”

The simple word stopped Obi-Wan in his steps.

“Yes, master?”

“I can feel your anguish. You are projecting.” Master Koon pulled a chair from the desk near Obi-Wan’s bed.

“Sit,” he said. “And talk.”

Obi-Wan didn’t sit.

“Master, it is a trivial matter. Nothing I cannot deal with on my own.”

“No, Obi-Wan. Thoughts are plaguing you. You haven’t projected like this since you were a youngling.”

Obi-Wan curled inward on himself, pausing in the midst of an advanced Ataru kata. He was acting like a child, he supposed.

“I am,” he paused, trying to find the right word. “Upset.”

“That I gathered. What I would like to know is why you are upset, young one.”

“I feel as though I have been overlooked by the order, master.” He sighed. “This new padawan, this Anakin, was taken from his home at an age far too old to be appropriate. He cannot touch anyone and he’s hardheaded and independent. And yet he was offered a place in the order almost immediately.”

Neither said anything for a moment.

“Qui-Gon Jinn was anxious to train him, a boy so similar to myself when not ten years ago he sneered at the thought of training someone like me. I am aware of what I lack in strength, but what was truly so wrong with me that everyone refused me? Am I simply not good enough?”

“Oh, Obi-Wan. I’m sorry the council and the order ignored you and your gifts as a youngling. It wasn’t fair to turn a blind eye to you simply over something no one controls. There are no excuses for how you were treated as a youngling. I wish there were, but we cannot change the past. Master Qui-Gon has been looking to prove himself as a worthy master ever since his last padawan, Xanatos, fell. He was certain you would because of your hard-headedness,” Plo said quietly. Sadly.

“But I haven’t! The entire order ignored me because I was a frustrated child and did nothing to help me.”

“I know, padawan. I am sorry.”

“Don’t be,” said Obi-Wan angrily, falling on his knees after a particularly grueling move. “You were the only one who bothered to do anything.”

He struggled to get up, pointedly looking at his master’s extended hand, an instinctual offer of help that had Plo cringing at himself on the inside. The young man walked away, hands trembling and shoulders tense.

“I’m staying with Quinlan for the night.”

Guilt and disappointment settled over Plo like a heavy cast. He rose from his own seat and rejoined the Council, still debating over Anakin. Obi-Wan was right, and Plo knew it. He just had to figure out a way that would let the rest of the council know.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Ten years later no one had time to worry about soulmates. They were burying friends. Brothers.

Every day was different. Every day was the same. The Council sat and watched their own march to battle and then into carnage. The blood of clones littered every shore within the parsec.

“Less death today, there was. Only him, in this battle.”

“Only him? Only the thousands of him, in one uniform, sinking, lining the ocean like a corpse carpet.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

“We won’t dig our own bloody graves,” he said. They said.

There were thousands of him. Can we call them he?

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Obi-Wan Kenobi did not much care about his soulmate anymore. He found, through the thick haze, that it didn’t matter. Not when he could touch people.

They’re still warm after they’ve died.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Anakin Skywalker might’ve lost his mind.

“What are they dancing for?”

The two men in front of him continued their battle. ‘Dooku,’ he thought. ‘And Kenobi.’

“What kind of town is this?” The blond screamed. “Why are you dancing?”

“That’s the way it is,” Anakin muttered “The devil takes one and lets the other get away.” Dooku’s head fell, singing, to the floor.

Hunger is ironic. It gives the mind much to feast on. And it has been days since Anakin ate.

The man didn’t notice when Kenobi threw him over his shoulder and ran.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

The senate was beginning to tire of the war.

“They are stepping over each other to keep fighting! They are clambering over heaps of bodies that look exactly like theirs to fight a war that they were never part of to begin with,” Padme cried. Even her friends continued drinking.

“What kind of town is this?” She asked in wonder to herself, surveying the expansive room.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

They had gone into a stupor. Obi-Wan and his men.

They were his men now. Plo Koon was dead at his feet.

“A quaking bog of corpses,” he said, entirely too loud. “Under our feet, broken teeth! Skulls split open!”

Cody shushed him.

Anakin was there. Somehow.

The taller man took the sobbing one into his arms. The pair had yet to do anything about the other. Obi-Wan simply figured that he and Anakin were always close enough to death that it allowed them this small peace.

What is the meaning of that word? He didn’t know anymore.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Anakin’s padawan years were good. He learned well despite his desire for physical interaction.

He was glad for it now. The inability to touch. His body revolted against even looking at an injured soldier. He didn’t know if he could ever touch one.

He was not like Obi-Wan. That man had a special relationship with death, as if he were always prepared for it. He did not mind digging the graves or moving the bodies by hand.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Padme had no idea if Obi-Wan was still alive. She would like to think he was, that he would walk through her door with good alcohol and they would talk again like they did when she was a child.

When the battered soldiers returned for the last time, she knew that Obi-Wan was dead. In his place was a husk, a shell of the once-innocent and hopeful boy he used to be. Even passing by him one could smell the death-haze; that thick and smoky scent that followed him everywhere. She imagined his skin was gritty and rough. Imagined he tasted like blood and iron and gunsmoke and whatever else he got himself into.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Obi-Wan Kenobi didn’t attend the funeral of Qui-Gon Jinn. Or Mace Windu. Neither did Anakin; the two were busy fighting their own war.

A war of attrition. Both were trying to keep the other from falling. To darkness? To death?

They did not succeed. Through the swath of whatever the pair had left on the steaming rocks of Mustafar, they reached for each other. Obi-Wan chose to ignore the squelch of Anakin’s insides he felt.

Anakin was not sure if Obi-Wan knew that his left leg was missing. Or if he would care.

“Who is that?” Obi-Wan whispered over a slowly growing shout.

“Sleep,” Anakin told him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Padme Amidala stood above a gruesome scene. Two men grasped hands among littered detritus from buildings and bodies alike.

Their own bodies, she realized.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

The three never knew what it was to love another. Never felt chaste and inexperienced lips against their own. The only weight Obi-Wan Kenobi knew was that of a clone. He had carried too many to their graves.

Anakin Skywalker only ever knew of a hand grasping his own in his last moments.

Padme Amidala knew just how she needed to be held. She climbed in between the two men and they wrapped themselves around her.

There, in the middle of it all. The fire was raining. The fire, the light was raining and all Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker and Padme Amidala knew and ever had known was darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> this took a turn even i wasn't expecting. the muse does what it wants, i suppose. i'm still not active on tumblr but feel free to yell at me here! kudos and comments are GREATLY appreciated.


End file.
